Still… Lizzie Fontaine was a good person. She’d have been the best if she hadn’t gotten knocked up by Dog, but that wasn’t something you could roll back the clock on, was it?
When the guy finally stopped studying me, he moved to the gate, which began moving now that the Prospect had pushed a button in a little shelter just off the driveway. The Enforcer rounded the cab to North’s side, and my brother rolled down the window, letting the hot air spread into the cab. Hawk reached up and clicked on the inner light too, and I squinted, the brightness painful after traveling in the dark all night long.
“You Dog’s kids?”
For a greeting, that was pretty polite. Especially since we’d interrupted something personal. His erection was proof enough of that.
“Yeah. Lizzie Fontaine was our mom,” I stated, giving my mother ownership of us and not that dumb fuck of a sperm donor.
His mouth tightened, and regret shaded his eyes. “I remember her. How did she die?”
“Heart attack,” I choked out, dipping my chin as I clenched my hands into fists.
“Fuck. She was only… what? In her late forties?” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely sad.
I cut him a look, surprised by his dejection, and whispered,
“Yeah, she was forty-five.”
“Too fucking young.”
North and Hawk didn’t reply, but then, they were taking Mom’s death weirdly. Honestly, I sometimes wondered how it was that they were the eldest siblings and I was the baby. They acted like toddlers most of the time, and the way they were grieving only backed up that theory.
“Yeah, she was,” I whispered, my pain ringing through each word.
“What brings you here?”
North cleared his throat and finally deigned to speak. “This is home, Nyx—”
My eyes widened at the name. Nyx? Sweet fuck, this was Nyx?
“You got a good memory on you, kid,” Nyx rumbled, his eyes darting over North’s face, searching for what, I had no idea.
“Helps that my dad writes me often, tells me some of the shit you get up to.”
Well, that was news to me.
Nyx’s eyes narrowed at my brother’s statement though. “That a threat?”
North stiffened, aware he’d put his foot in his mouth, as per fucking usual. “No! Not at all. I just mean, he told me about the crazy stunts you pull. Extreme sports shit, you know?”
The tension surged in the cab, and for a second, it combined with my fatigue, my grief, and the fact I hadn’t eaten properly since we’d set off, making me feel lightheaded. Reaching up to rub my forehead, I massaged my temples. Nyx caught the movement—fuck, I felt like he caught every movement—and murmured, “There’s a party going on at the moment. You’re welcome to sleep in the bunks until Rex can decide what to do with you.”
“Rex is the new Prez?” I asked, eyes widening, because I remembered him too. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Not if I knew all the brothers and the Old Ladies.
“Yeah. He is. For the past four years. Why?” His mouth twisted. “You got a problem with that?” His tone told me he didn’t give a shit if I did or not.
In an effort to be polite, which wasn’t something I did often, I countered, “No! Of course not. I just remember when he was a Prospect, that’s all.” My smile was genuine. “He was nice.”
Nyx snorted. “Nice. Yeah. That’s Rex. All heart.” The Prospect was hovering by the gates, and as Nyx turned around and began to walk back, he told him, “Drive the truck into the nearest parking bay. I’ll take our guests to the bunks.” The word ‘guests’ didn’t sound all that cordial or hospitable to me, enough so that I frowned at it.
“Nyx?” I called, aware that there was a quiver in my voice, and hating myself for it because these bastards thrived on weakness.
Just because they were, essentially, family, didn’t mean I didn’t know how shit worked around here.
“Yeah. What?” he demanded impatiently, twisting back around to stare at me.
“You do know it’s us, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t be letting you through the fucking gates if you weren’t the spitting image of your momma. Now, I don’t have all goddamn night. Do you want to come in, or stay out here until Rex wakes up tomorrow afternoon?”
Two
Nyx
IT HAD BEEN shitty of me to talk to Giulia like that, especially when, later on that night, I found out from her brothers that they’d been traveling from Utah, hadn’t stopped much on the journey, and that their mother had only just died a few weeks ago.
I felt like a cunt. But then, I usually felt that way.
No change there.
But I felt even worse than usual about it when I woke up the next morning.
Staring at the ceiling, I thought about the way her eyes had darkened at my gruffness, thought about the fact I might have hurt her feelings, and wondered why I gave a fuck.
I’d granted more Glasgow smiles than I could count on two hands, and lynched monsters without blinking, but putting a girl down when her momma had just died somehow felt like my biggest sin.
Especially when I’d compounded it by ignoring her as I’d walked the trio over to the bunks. Even though she’d tried to ask if I was okay—me? Okay? I wasn’t okay. I was the exact opposite of okay. But she’d tried to be nice, and I’d blatantly ignored her, mostly because the sight of her reminded me of a time I really wanted to forget. I’d had the biggest crush on her mom, and sometimes, that crush had been the only thing that got me through the fucking days.
Cammie moaned at my side, reminding me she was there. I’d fucked her hard last night, hard enough to make her scream—not necessarily in a good way. She’d come though, clenching down on my cock like she was a vise… which diminished some of the guilt I felt on that score. What was left wasn’t enough to stop me from
shoving her arm away and muttering, “Go back to bed.”
She mumbled, “In bed already.”
“Wrong bed,” I retorted. When she started to close her eyes so she could fall back asleep, I shook her harder. “Cammie, fuck off back to your own bed.”
She squinted at me, then pouted. “Don’t be mean, Nyx. I can make you feel good later,” she whispered, more sleepily than sexily.
“I don’t want to feel good later,” I told her dryly, then I smoothed over my harshness by tapping her on the ass and saying, “Go on, get.”
With a huff, she rolled off the bed, grabbed her shit together, and barely took a moment to slip into her shoes—couldn’t blame her, only a fool would walk about this place barefoot—and limped off toward the door.
Without a backwards glance, she disappeared into the hallway buck naked and shameless. But then, why would she feel ashamed? She wouldn’t be the only clubwhore wandering the halls at this time of the morning.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I yawned and stared at the clock. Rex was a sicko. He liked to be up and about before eleven—didn’t matter if we’d been partying hard the night before or not. And because I was on the council, that meant I had to be up too.
In fact, I was so fucking used to his dipshit ways that my own circadian rhythms knew to be awake at this time—it was ten-forty.
Grunting as I rolled into a sitting position, I scrubbed a hand over my hair as I scanned my room. A lot of my brothers were pigs, but not me. Everything in here was spotless, except for the clothes I’d tossed on the floor last night and the wet condoms that hadn’t hit the bin.
If anything, that was what had me shuffling off the bed. I tied knots into them before shoving them in the trash, and yeah, I knew it was weird, but I grabbed the packet of disinfectant wet wipes I stored in my bedside table for just this occasion, and bent over to clean that mess up.
The rest of the house might gleam under a black light, but not this fucking room. I was too accustomed to keeping shit clean after a kill to let my DNA out on the loose.
Making a mental note to get Cammie to change my sheets later on, I h
eaded for the bathroom. After I took a piss, I shaved, then dove into the shower. I hadn’t shaved in at least five days, and I didn’t even want to think about why shaving was suddenly imperative.
Ten minutes later, I was just in time to make it to Rex’s office. His was the biggest in the place, and it had a conference table in there. It was where we held council meetings. Church, on the other hand, went down in the bar.
Around a yawn, I headed for his desk where a large tray had been placed. There was coffee, Ibuprofen and aspirin, a few cinnamon buns, and some bottles of water.
Ignoring some of my brothers who were already at the table, I grabbed a coffee, some aspirin, and a bottle of water, but stared at the cinnamon buns with definite surprise. They not only looked freshly baked, but they smelled it too, and no one, as far as I knew, baked around here. Certainly none of the skinny bitches we fucked on the regular.
“I’m sweet enough,” I commented, eying the treat which, I had to admit, would have been appetizing if I hadn’t been shitfaced from the night before.
Rex grunted. “Far as I’m concerned, you could eat a thousand of them and not be sweet enough. Maybe that’s the key to getting you in a better mood. We need to force feed you baked goods.” He laughed. “Like in Seven?”
I grimaced at the memory of watching that movie back when we were twelve and had to sneak around to watch that shit. Even I wasn’t sick enough to force feed someone until their stomach exploded. Go me. “You’re all fucking heart,” I retorted, then eyed the door when I heard some squeaking sounds out in the hall. Knowing what they meant, I muttered, “Mav’s late.”
“Ain’t he fucking always,” Rex grumbled, casting a glance at the clock.
A few minutes later, the sound of swearing hit us loud and clear, followed by a few bangs as Mav used his crutches—crutches he only used as battering rams to get about inside the clubhouse—to push the door open before quickly wheeling inside the room.
He wore his usual scowl, a cut, and jeans. With his chest on show, I could see scars and tats. Because he could have worn a clown suit for all I gave a fuck, I never asked him why he always had his scars out on display, just wasn’t surprised at the sight of them anymore.
First time I’d seen them? My initial reaction had been shock—not at the sight of them, but that he’d survived in the first place.
Fucker always had been stubborn, and if there was a God, I’d thank him for that. Maverick was one of the best.
Even if, ever since he’d come home, he’d been ornery as fuck. And when I said ornery, I meant it. He’d make a bear who’d been disturbed mid-hibernation look fucking cheerful.
“When are you changing the fucking door?” Mav growled at Rex.
“Why do I need to change my door? Nothing wrong with it.” Rex folded his arms across his chest, standing there like Solomon, like he could wait forever for Maverick to change his ways without having to move an inch.
“Would make my life a lot easier if you made it a swing door.”
I snorted. “You’re in that chair by choice. The second you start pulling your weight with physical therapy is the second you’ll be back on your feet.”
Mav didn’t reply, just scowled at me, then wheeled over to the desk. He grabbed himself a cinnamon bun and took a bite that was close to defiant.
“I ain’t the one who’s gonna get fat sitting down all the time,” I told him cheerfully, enjoying his glower while everyone else was still settling into their positions.
Making Mav feel something was number one on everyone’s todo list. The poor bastard had PTSD from his time served overseas, and if we let him, he’d just curl up and die. That was why he was Treasurer. As soon as he’d woken up after his last surgery in Bethesda, Rex had dumped the role on him and told him to get better, because the club’s books were a mess after Boney had been looking after them—a lie because Boney was one shrewd motherfucker.
Four years later, he was still in the fucking chair, though the doctors said there was no physical reason for him to be handicapped, and even though Boney had ceded the role to help a brother out, he’d never asked about taking the position back either—even though being on the council earned him forty percent more of a cut in earnings. Everyone knew being Treasurer was the only reason Mav got up on a morning. That, and the shit he did for me too. We were both on a mission, didn’t matter that it wasn’t government sanctioned… Someone had to take out the trash.
“Who made ‘em?” Link asked, gracing us with his attention as he looked away from his phone.
From the smirk on his face, he’d been sexting. Only God knew about what. Link was unusual where sex was concerned, and that was being goddamn kind. We’d all heard the rumors, and I didn’t need confirmation. Even if he had a habit of oversharing when we were in the gym.
Rex grimaced. “That’s a long story.”
“I don’t need the fucking recipe,” Link mumbled, eyes lighting up at almost the same brightness as his phone which pinged with a notification. “Just a name.”
“That’s exactly it,” Rex retorted crisply. “We had some visitors last night. One of them made us the buns.”
My brow puckered at that as I figured out who was behind the baking. The twins had come with me to party, and I had no doubt they’d be gracing the porcelain God this morning, which meant… “Giulia made them? When the fuck did she have time to do that?” I knew she had to be exhausted after that trip, but not only that, from the shadows under her eyes—eyes I’d done my best to avoid during most of our interaction last night—it looked like she hadn’t been sleeping that well for a while. The idea of her jumping up and pulling a Stepford wife routine put me on edge.
No one did shit without a motive in mind.
What was her game?
Rex shrugged. “This morning. I think she’s trying to prove she can be useful.”
“Well, they’re a fucking wet dream,” Mav growled around a mouthful, his eyes bright sparkling dimes as he chowed down. “If she can bake like this, she’s more than fucking useful.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her she has your vote,” Rex said dryly, making me laugh into my coffee.
“Why does she think she has to be useful? She’s family,” I pointed out. “Not like we’re going to toss her out.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Link interjected, finally turning his phone screen down and giving us all his attention. “Who the fuck is Giulia?”
“Dog’s daughter,” I informed him. “She and his boys came in last night during the party. I took them to the bunks, told Rex about them, and that’s about as much as I know.”
Well, that and she was the spitting image of her dead mom. The woman I’d jerked off to more than once when I was a teen. Except, if I was being honest, Giulia was like a pimped up version of Lizzie. She had bigger tits, a smaller waist, and rounder hips. Her skin was that Italian olive that was close to gold, and her eyes were shielded by the thickest fucking lashes I’d ever seen. Cammie had those beetles she got stuck on the lids every month. Giulia was the opposite. Everything about her was natural, from her curves to her features, which had been makeup free last night. Her hair wasn’t dyed, and unlike her mom’s, it was longer, and it had a curl to it that made me think about wrapping it around my fist, which led to thoughts I had no right to be thinking. Not about Lizzie’s girl.
Rex rubbed his chin as he leaned farther against the side of his desk so he could cross his feet at the ankle. “Where the fuck are Storm and Steel? I’d prefer not to have to tell this twice.”
“I’m here! Sorry I’m late. Tink wanted to suck my cock, and who am I to disappoint a lady?” Storm came swirling in like the storm he fucking was. His grin was as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s, and he clapped me on the arm as I moved toward the table, jostling my coffee.
“Fuck off, man, some of us didn’t have enough time to get blown,” I grumbled at the pain in the ass who, as usual, was oblivious to the chaos he left in his wake.
Storm just started whistlin
g, which irritated me even more. He fist-bumped Rex—even though he’d had to lift Rex’s fist to bump it—and grabbed a coffee, which he slurped halfway down, before topping it up and beaming another grin at us.
Motherfucker was just asking to be punched.
“Jesus, since when was Tink good at oral?” Steel complained as he shuffled in, squinting at the window. It didn’t surprise me when he headed over to it and closed the blinds.
When we were sitting in the semi-dark, almost everyone but him and me began to laugh.
“How the fuck are we supposed to discuss business in the goddamn dark?” Rex retorted, but he was amused too. That much was clear from his tone, as well as the fact he didn’t undo Steel’s work and left the room in a haze of shadows.
“Don’t care,” Steel grumbled, slumping over the table and dragging his arms over his head, “but fuck if my eyes are going to work in the light.”
Rex huffed but switched on his desk lamp. Always made me laugh when he did. Hard ass Prez of a biker with a fucking banker’s lamp of all things gracing his desk. The one with the gold stand and the green glass?
I shook my head at the sight, especially when he twisted it around so that Steel, who’d slouched against his chair, was in the spotlight. Rex just grinned at his groan, then tipped it back down so there was a golden glow in the middle of the floor.
“Now that we’re all here… Late is better than nothing, although you know I’ll fucking dock your goddamn cuts if it happens again—”
A chorus of “Yeah, yeah, yeah” sang at that. Not because we knew he wasn’t good for his word, but because sometimes, it was worth being goddamn docked. Even for me, this was way too early.
“We have some news.”
Steel peeped out of one eye. As the MC’s Secretary, he needed to keep his finger on the pulse—well, when his brain wasn’t full of vodka, the fucker’s drink of choice. “Of the good or bad variety?”
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